


where the river runs, i will follow

by soulofme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Other, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 06:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: Keith likes to run all about their little Texan town, sometimes going far enough that Steven wonders if the boy will ever make it back home.





	where the river runs, i will follow

**Author's Note:**

> season 6 just made me feel a lot of things guys

Steven Kogane considers himself to be a rather patient man. But, like any father of a teenaged child, there are moments where his son pushes his buttons. Keith, unfortunately, appears to push more than the children of his co-workers. While they can tame their sons and daughters with promises of no television or revoking their cell phones, Steven has no such leverage over Keith.

For one, Keith hardly uses his cell phone anyway. He has little interest in television. Instead, Keith goes running. Fairly innocent, by most standards. Steven’s heard the horror stories of nights of alcohol and debauchery, and considers himself gloriously lucky that Keith seems uninterested in both pursuits. Instead, Keith likes to run all about their little Texan town, sometimes going far enough that Steven wonders if the boy will ever make it back home.

But that doesn’t mean Keith’s angelic by any means. He’s had a rough go of it, Steven truly understands that. He’s had no one but his father and their tiny shack. He doesn’t have nearly the same amount of privilege as the rest of his classmates. But _damn it_ , Steven’s doing his best. There’s always room for improvement, with basically everything in life, but at the moment, there’s not much else he can do. He works odd jobs whenever he can, scraping up enough money to pay the bills and put food on the table.

The thing about Keith is that he’s physically gifted. He’s never had a problem with gym class in school, always the first kid to finish the mile and climb the rope. But that also means that when he gets angry, angry to the point that all he sees is red, he punches the first thing he sees. The kid’s been scrappy since he was tot, always stumbling over there and running over here. Keith has never been still, not for once second.

But sometimes, Steven wishes he would be. Wishes he’d think before cursing his classmates out, before breaking a nose or bruising a cheek.

“Keith,” he starts.

He gets a defiant tilt of the chin, a glare cold enough to freeze hell over.

“’m not gonna yell atcha.”

Keith twists his head to look the other way.

“I’m disappointed,” Steven continues, treading lightly. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m not. You’ve gotta start taking accountability for your actions. You can’t just go on and do whatever you like because you feel like it.”

“He had it comin’,” Keith says then, all bite. Steven holds back an impatient sigh.

“You had no right to hit him and you know that.”

Keith slams his hands down onto the table then, sending his chair crashing backwards onto the floor. Steven doesn’t bat an eye, just stares the boy down with what he hopes is a firm stance. Truth be told, the hurt look in his son’s eyes just about breaks his heart. But Keith can’t go on this way, burning bridges before they’ve even been fully built.

“You weren’t there,” Keith says, voice cracking all over the place, hunched shoulders shaking like leaves on a tree. “You weren’t _there_.”

“I know, son,” Steven murmurs. “But do you know who that boy is, Keith? Jacob’s the sheriff’s son. He coulda ruined you in ten seconds flat and not even thought twice about it.”

“Maybe he should’ve.”

Steven furrows his brows. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Keith huffs, hanging his head. He shakes it a few times before he steps back from the table. The front door slams shut behind him, rattling the frame. The sound echoes around the house, the cool autumn air lingering around Steven’s shoulder like a coat.

He wants to run after him, wants to wrap Keith up in his arms and hold him tight. But Keith doesn’t need that now. He needs time to himself, time to let the day’s events simmer. Time to think things through and reach an understanding all on his own.

So Steven shuts the light out and migrates to the couch. A broken spring digs into the small of his back. He throws the scratchy throw blanket over his legs and leans back, listening to the ticking of their aged grandfather clock from the other end of the room.

He runs a critical eye over the room, lingering on the coffee table (a bunch of empty crates pushed together), the tiny box television (only good for the news), the dark red walls (peeling from every damn corner). The sight depresses him to no end, so he shuts his eyes and pretends that he’s somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else.

It’s times like these where he feels sorry for himself. There’s no use in it, and he bets his granddaddy’s just about rolling in his grave right now. But there’s nothing else he can do on these days, the days where he finds himself thinking that he’s just not good enough.

His best isn’t the best by most standards. For one, no one in their town’s ever raised a kid alone. They’ve got spouses and parents, neighbors and friends. Steven’s parents have been dead long before Keith was even born. And a spouse? He had a girlfriend, a nice girl named Krolia from the other side of town. She’d gotten pregnant their last year of school, and Steven had accepted the responsibility without a second thought, ready to make an honest woman out of her.

So they welcomed their son, Keith Akira Kogane, and raised him best they could while they planned a wedding. But then the accident happened a week before they tied the knot, killing Krolia and leaving him a single father. The people in town already talked a lot about him, about how Steven was bringing shame on his father’s name. Those same people reached out, offering to help Steven, but he’d pushed them all away. He didn’t need them. He’d raise his son the way he saw fit, even if it didn’t fall into their so-called standards.

He’d gravely underestimated how difficult raising a child was. Eventually, he’d given in and let one of the women down the street watch Keith while he put in hours at the factory and the diner. People pitied him, but Steven kept his head held high and kept on going.

It worked, for a while, until Keith started school. That’s when the acting up started, when the fights and calls about disciplinary action came pouring in. The townspeople doubted his abilities as a father.

And eventually, Steven did too.

Most days, he can push that little voice in the back of his head down, smother it until it’s nothing but a weak whisper. But when he has a day like today, that voice screams with all its might. Nothing quiets it, not even the thought that tomorrow is a new day, a day to fix the wrongs of today.

Steven reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s exhausted now. Keith’ll be back soon, he assures himself, sliding sideways to rest along the lumpy couch. He’ll take a quick nap, and when he awakes his boy will be here and they’ll talk all about the day.

So he lets himself fall asleep. But when he awakes, Keith’s still not home. His sneakers aren’t by the door and he isn’t in his room. Panic courses in Steven’s veins, and his blood turns to ice. He stares at the grandfather clock, swearing a storm when he sees the time. Quarter to twelve. Keith’s never been gone this long before.

He tears out of the house, not even bothering to grab a jacket or his keys. Adrenaline keeps his aching body moving, bringing him to the edge of the woods before he can even think about it. His baby's in there somewhere. The thought that Keith might be hurt, or terribly scared, or a horrifying mixture of the two, spurs Steven on. He pushes branches out of his way, snapping some clean off as he stumbles through the thick vegetation, his frantic eyes searching for even the smallest hint that Keith’s here.

He shouts and screams, runs his throat raw as he searches frantically. He has to rest ten minutes later, hunched over his knees and thoroughly out of breath.

“…Dad?”

Steven’s head snaps up. Keith’s a foot away, unharmed, not a single scratch or bruise on his body. Steven steps forward, ignores the wary look on his son’s face, and crushes him to his chest. Keith’s whole body goes tense before he wraps his arms around his father.

“I thought you were gone,” he whispers, pressing the words into Keith’s scalp. It’s smell of sweat and the woods, of dry leaves and _home_. “Thought something happened to you, thought I’d never see you again.”

“Daddy,” Keith mumbles, in a voice so tiny and broken that Steven imagines him as a little boy, the one who’d sneak into his room after a bad dream. The thought makes him hold Keith even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Steven says. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

They separate after a few moments, but Steven keeps an arm slung along Keith’s shoulders as they trek back home. His chest still has a tight feeling in it, a feeling that gets even more painful as Keith’s earlier words echo in his head.

 _“Maybe he should’ve_.”

He doesn’t bring it up until they’re back at the house, where Keith picks up the chair he’d knocked over before pressing Steven into it. Steven watches as Keith moves over to the stove, filling a kettle with water and putting it to boil.

“What did you mean, Keith?”

“What?” Keith turns to look at him, a confused look on his face.

“Maybe he should’ve,’” Steven echoes. “What’d you mean?”

“Nothin’, Dad.” Keith frowns as he speaks, turning back to the kettle.

“Keith.”

Keith raises his head and sighs softly. The kettle screeches, shattering the silence between them. Keith pours hot water into a mug and drops a tea bag into it before depositing it before Steven. He sits in the chair across from him and avoids his gaze, staring down at their beat-up table.

“He was talking about you.” Keith’s voice shakes, but he presses on. “He said…he said you weren’t anybody, and that I wouldn’t ever be either.”

Steven’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. Not because of Jacob’s words, but because of how affected Keith is by them.

“So you hit him?”

“So I hit him,” Keith whispers. “I didn’t mean to, Dad. He just made me so _angry_ and I just saw red.”

“You know he’s wrong, right?” Steven asks. Keith is silent. “ _Right_?”

“Dad…”

“No, Keith,” Steven says. “I don’t care what the people in this goddamn town have to say, alright? You’re gonna to do great things, Keith, and you’re gonna prove every one of ‘em _wrong_.”

Keith sniffles before nodding once, still not looking at Steven. Steven gets up, dragging his chair beside Keith’s.

“Son,” he says. “I know we don’t have much. I know things have been difficult for you. But I just want to know that I’m so proud of you. I always will be. Any time you think you’re alone, I’m gonna be right here.”

Keith throws his arms around Steven then, surprising them both. Steven doesn’t hesitate to hug his son as tightly as he can, attempting to somehow put all of the love and pride he has for his boy into that one embrace.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Steven presses a kiss to Keith’s temple, salty with sweat. “Daddy’s gotcha. Daddy’s always gotcha, Keith.”

Keith burrows his face into his neck, breathing heavily against his skin.

“You know he’s wrong too, right?” Keith says, pulling back to look at Steven’s face. “You shouldn’t believe what he said either.”

Steven feels his eyes water. He blinks away the tears and tucks a stray strand of Keith’s wild hair behind his ear.

“I know, Keith,” he says. He doesn’t fully believe the words, but the warm look on Keith’s face makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s doing just fine.

“How’d you know where to find me, by the way?” Keith asks then, brows raised high on his forehead. Steven snorts and ruffles Keith’s hair.

“You’re my son,” he says, beaming when Keith does. “I’ll always find you, no matter how far you run.”

“I love you, Dad,” Keith says, softly. Steven brings him into another hug.

“Love you too, kiddo.”

 _Always, no matter what_.


End file.
